


Time Was Never On My Side

by Dulcinea



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Post-Avengers 4, Anger, Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Gen, Grief, Humor, Ironstrange Big Bang, M/M, Post-Infinity War: Part 1, Remorse, Romance, Sadness, Timey-Whimey Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: Time doesn't heal all wounds.A post-Infinity War, Part 2 what-if, where Tony defeated Thanos using the Infinity Gauntlet.





	Time Was Never On My Side

**Author's Note:**

> Very late in posting this! 
> 
> I'm glad to have been part of this Big Bang. My first one! Thank you to my artist, Tumblr user "a-blog-against-team-cap." Artwork is at the very end. 
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this story, but I will reserve them to myself. I just hope you enjoy the story. :)
> 
> Title from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0_i8Ad6Kd4)

It was a normal evening at first – eating some freshly delivered Chinese while checking in on the latest specks coming out of the Stark Tech labs – when Tony got a frantic call over his line from one Peter Parker.

_“Mr. Stark, I need help! There’s these monsters that look like a bunch of Swamp Things who poof here and there like vampires and I can’t believe I’m saying this but it looks so cool but I can’t follow them and Karen can only do so much and—OH SHIT!”_

It was the explicative that got Tony into his latest suit, flipped the tracker on his screen for Spider-Man and blasted over as fast as he could, right to the center of Central Park. Why KAREN didn’t alert him sooner, he didn’t know, and he’d have a stern talking to the AI—and reconfiguring of her systematics later—once this was all done and over with.

 _God help Ted if he tinkered with KAREN again.._.

He landed right in the center of Central Park, expecting the typical bedlam, like ripped trees, raging fires, toppled statues, heavy screaming and the like. He was well prepared mentally and physically to do whatever it took to stop these monsters from attacking his home.

Tony found absolutely nothing of the sort.

Instead, standing in the middle of an empty clearing, surrounded by fully-bloomed trees and illuminated by cloudless moonlight, was the one guy—the last guy in the universe—Tony did not want to see, _ever_. 

Nanotechnology dissolved Tony’s facemask.

Stephen Strange had the audacity to wave.

“Hello, Tony.”

“Peter is _so grounded_.”

“It wasn’t his idea—”

The roar of Tony’s jets overpowered Stephen’s disgusting voice. His facemask melted back on and he gazed back up at the stars, repulsors on max thrust. The moon came closer, the park beneath him shrinking in size.

“FRIDAY, call Parker. I have a bone to pick with—”

Orange sparks flashed in front of him, creating a big circle he flew right into.

“Shit!”

Tony slammed body first right back into the ground. His repulsors died automatically.

“Agh!” He shook his head, sitting upright on the floor. “Goddamn magic.” He found Stephen’s stupid shoes right in front of him and looked up, his faceplate melting away. “What the hell is wrong with…?”

Tony frowned when he saw no trees behind Stephen, no night sky and no buildings. Nothing reminiscent of Central Park. He came to his feet, taking in his surroundings. There were dark wooden walls, an antique auburn-brown record player, a few Victorian oil lamps, two dark green chaises, a burgundy china cabinet with a few ornaments ( _is that a skull?)_ inside, an ornate coffee table, a large casement window accented by wispy white curtains, three bookcases of varying sizes, a vintage globe and…

The broken, busted, almost blackened Infinity Gauntlet.

He turned back around to Stephen. “What is this doing here?”

“We need to talk, and you won’t take my calls.” With a flick of his hand, a thick tomb of a book landed in his palm. “So I’m not letting you go until we do.”

“You have the Gauntlet.”

“Indeed.”

“You said you disposed of it. You swore to all of us it was gone for good.”

“It was.” Stephen flipped the book open as he turned his back to Tony. “Until now.”

His lips flapped about, forming silent words like ‘why’ and ‘how’ and ‘what.’ Then Tony found his voice and shouted, “You asshole!” The suit flared back on, nanotechnology swarming over his face. “FRIDAY, get me Rhodey and—”

He slammed right into something invisible, bouncing back two steps.

“What the…” Tony touched the wall—what he thought was the wall—and it bounced right back at him. He tried a different part of the wall, and it bounced back again. “FRIDAY, scan this place.”

Nothing replied, except the sound of Stephen turning a page.

“FRIDAY?”

“I’m afraid AIs are not allowed in this dimension, Tony.”

He whipped back around. “What did you do to her?”

“She’s fine, safe in our usual dimension. I just didn’t want anyone else here. As a matter of fact…” Stephen unbuttoned the Cloak, and the item floated off to the side of the chair. With a few circles of Stephen’s hand and the Sling Ring attached, the Cloak entered and disappeared. “There. Even playing field.”

“Sure, whatever, bye bye Magic Carpet. How about I just cut to the chase, hm? Two in one question, see if you can handle it. Why am I here, and—” He grabbed the Gauntlet and shook it in front of his face. “Why in the _blue hell_ do you have _THIS_?”

“The better questions are how did I get this, and how did you get here in the first place. The latter is so much more interesting to talk about.”

“Quit stalling, jackass.” He slammed it down back to the desk. “You shouldn’t have this. No one in this universe should have this.”

“And like I said, no one did, until now.” Stephen looked up from his book. “Because we have to talk.”

“About what? What the hell do you and I have to talk about that _you_ haven’t already told me, hm?” He stormed right up to Stephen. “Is it about how much you love me? Is that it?”

Much to Tony’s surprise, Stephen didn’t flinch. “No.”

“Good. Because after the stunt you pulled, after doing what you did to the whole universe, to everyone I know and love—hell, to me? I will never forgive you. I don’t care that you fell in love with me eventually over the course of those however many million futures. I don’t care that we eventually got together in some of those. And I sure as hell don’t give a rat’s ass if I sacrificed myself for you in any of them. Because that wasn’t reality. That wasn’t real. This is real. So I’m glad we’re not here to talk about that, because you seriously need get it through your goddamn head already. I will never, ever be in a relationship with you, in any capacity. I will never like you. I will never, _ever_ be with you.”

Stephen tilted his head and rose an eyebrow. “You done?”

“As long as you get it.”

“Crystal.” Orange sparks flew from Strange’s yellow-gloved fingers. “Now it’s your turn.” A picture and a necklace landed into Stephen’s hand, which he threw at Tony’s feet.

Tony looked down.

He froze right in his spot.

The necklace looked innocent enough: a cloth band with a simple gold ring hanging on it, a green dot in the middle, akin to an emerald. But the picture told more than the jewelry did. The picture told a story Tony wished he could forget, a picture of a reality that never, ever came to be, because it just _couldn’t_.

But it had, once.

The picture came closer in his vision. He realized too late he had knelt down on the ground, fingers brushing alongside the 5x7 matted white edge. It once belonged in a frame Tony picked out, because he wanted to see it on his work desk every day.

He heard Stephen say, “I’m going to ask you in a way I know you’ll appreciate.” In his line of sight, Stephen’s shoes popped in, then one of his gloved hands. A finger pointed at the picture—taken five years after the Battle of Thanos, five years in another world, a different reality. “Why am I there, in that photo, with you—” That finger jerked right to the necklace. “And why in the  _blue hell_  do you have  _this_?”

Tony jerked upright, snatching both items from the ground.

“You’re mad at me for not getting rid of the Gauntlet? You’ve been housing an  _Infinity Stone_ , Tony.”

He stormed right up to the wall, his fist colliding with it. The wall bounced right back like gelatin, leaving behind an indent of his knuckles Tony stared at. 

His fingers played with the ring, thumb rubbing over the piece of stone. 

Under his breath, Tony said, “It’s not real.”

Footsteps drew closer. His knuckle imprints faded before his eyes. 

“How did you get it?” Stephen asked. 

“I don’t have to answer to you.”

“You’re not leaving until you give me some answers.”

Tony whipped his head around. He found Stephen cross-armed, glaring at him. He glared right back. “Then get comfy, jackass.”

As he crossed the room to flop on one of the green chaises, Stephen said, “I knew something happened when you put on that Gauntlet. It was obvious enough you didn’t look okay after. But to do something this reckless?”

“Again. It’s a small piece.”

“A piece might be enough to destroy half the universe again!" 

When Stephen's feet showed up in his line of sight, Tony held up the ring to his face. 

_I can't believe I forgot all about you._

Stephen's rising voice cut through his thoughts. "How many other fragments do you have? Huh? What else have you been hiding from us? Answer me, Stark!” 

He replied with a clasp of his fingers around the ring. Tony pressed his closed fist between his eyebrows. 

The silence hurt. He ached inside, right to his very gut.

_Just like then._

Shaky fingers yanked his shirt collar up, causing Tony to drop both the ring and the photo. Stephen jerked him up to his feet, his nose close to Tony's, and all Tony could see in that moment was the face of pure, unadulterated rage. 

"Answer me!"

After a beat, he did—with a punch. 

Stephen responded to his next punch with a block. Then another. Each punch he gave Stephen never landed on their targets, and Stephen _the bastard_ didn’t attack back. He fought off Tony, allowed himself to be pushed back into the jelly-like walls, slammed into furniture, damaging artifacts along the way, artifacts and knickknacks and other seemingly priceless items in the way of his rage. He could’ve used his repulsors, could’ve used any of the gadgets he had on him, but Tony knew otherwise.

Tony knew Stephen could’ve stopped him at any point.

He had shown Tony he could, once. More than once.

Because _a Stephen_ knew him.

Tony hissed, kicking Stephen’s midsection—and was blocked, again. He hissed, “This is _your_ fault.” With a small kick to his repulsors on his boots, he pushed Stephen up against the wall, digging his fingers around Stephen’s shoulders. “If you hadn’t given up the Time Stone in the first place—”

“This again?”

“Yes, _this_ again.” He pushed up into Stephen’s face and ignored the ache inside his chest. “Because of you, I had to sacrifice something I didn’t want to. Something I didn’t know I _could_ do. I’ve already been through enough in my life and your stupid sacrifice made everything worse.”

With a burst of orange energy, Stephen forced Tony back from him. Tony caught himself from falling backwards.

“If I hadn’t done what I did,” Stephen said, “we wouldn’t be here.”

“No. We wouldn’t.” Tony swallowed. His vision blurred. “But one of us would.”

When Stephen’s eyes bugged out, Tony pivoted on his heel. He searched the floor for the fallen ring and picture and found them near one of the green chaises in the room.

He bent down and picked them up in one hand. By heart, Tony knew the picture—who took it, where it came from, why it existed in the first place. How it came into this world, this reality, he didn’t know. But this gift, or curse, from using the Gauntlet, was unwanted, unwelcomed.

As he sat on the green chaise, he looked to the back of the picture, his thumb running over the scrawled words in blue pen on the back.  
  
त्वम् सदा मया सह असि।

_Tvam mayi sada sarvada nivasasi._

Stephen’s quiet whisper cut through the silence in the room. “You saw through the Time Stone.”

Tony chuckled. “Excellent deduction, Doctor. Took you long enough.”

Of course, the questions came—typical Stephen. “How many futures did you see? What happened? Why the hell didn’t you tell me? I understand you don’t like me but…” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, and the ache in Tony’s chest intensified. “It’s hell going through this alone, but I can help you through this. I know exactly what it’s like to go through this.”

“I don’t care.”

“You need my help.”

Tony closed his eyes. “You heard me.”

“Tony—”

“I don’t need you for anything, ever. You’ve done enough for _my_ lifetime.”

Right beside him, the chaise dipped. Fabric moved.

Silence.

Behind the darkness of his lids, Tony could see a time when Stephen would touch his cheek, or his shoulder, or his hand, or his hip, and say the things that would work, because Stephen knew how to diffuse a tense situation between them. He’d say things like, “How about we go watch a movie?” or “Let’s take a walk,” or “I’ll leave you be.” Sometimes he’d say, “I was reading something about…” and it would always be something engineering related, because Stephen knew Tony loved a complex problem, or a complex concept to dissect and divulge in. Sometimes he’d say, “I’m here,” or “I don’t know what will make you better, but I care,” or “do you like this album,” because Stephen knew Tony loved music, loved hearing fun old school albums in his workshop while he tinkered on a project. There was always music, always conversations, always laughter.

It’s why Tony took that photo. Why Stephen gave him that ring. Because Stephen knew Tony hated that silence. Hated that tension. Hated living in the darkness behind his lids and letting his mind wander because that’s when the thoughts would come, that’s when the thoughts would never end, that’s when he would just _lose_ it and—

Fingertips grazed his skin.

Tony opened his eyes.

A yellow-gloved hand came into Tony’s view, grazed the top of his knuckles—the knuckles of the hand holding the photo and ring—paused, inched away, then rested right beside his hip.

Silence. Again.

Tony growled under his breath, “Say something, dammit.”

“Hi.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes.

Stephen said, “What? I did what you asked.”

“How about responding to what I just said, jackass?”

“Well.” He watched the fingers curl, retreat away an inch. “You said I’ve done enough.”

“And?” Tony finally looked up at Stephen next to him. “Don’t you want to know why? Don’t you care?”

A fire lit in Stephen’s eyes, in the way he sat further up, a little closer to him. “It’s not my place to ask.”

“Yeah, it isn’t, but that isn’t the question.”

More silence. Damned silence.

Tony counted his breaths, like a Stephen taught him to, once.

Then, Stephen looked at the photo in his hand. The eyes read the Sanskrit words on the back. For a fleeting moment, Tony caught a flash of surprise on Stephen’s face, a spark of awe, and for a second, Tony’s heart skipped.

Stephen’s fingers rested right over the top of his hand, the hand holding the photo.

With a gentleness that pulled at Tony’s heart, Stephen turned the photo over. Tony looked down and took in the image with him.

It was the end of summer when Tony took the photo. They stood side by side in the heart of Central Park, fresh off the battle against Thanos, with Tony’s arm draped around Stephen’s shoulders. Stephen held his hands behind his back, his lips a small smile, his cheeks a nice, rosy pink. Around Stephen’s neck, the Cloak’s right end gave a little wave. Tony winked at the camera, gave it a small wave of his hand that rested dangerously close to Stephen’s neck. If Tony looked closely, he could catch the way his pinky rested close to Stephen’s earlobe. The way Tony teased him was just to get Stephen to break for the camera, two friends enjoying some time together, a way to tease him because the good Doctor never lost his composure, and Tony treasured the photo because for once, he got him. He had the evidence. It later became evidence for what happened later on that perfect day, when Tony discovered that spot behind Stephen’s earlobe was one hell of a massive turn on, and Stephen got him back for his cheekiness with the deepest, sensual goodnight kiss Tony ever received. It was the turning point of everything, changing the planned, casual hangout to an unexpected, unofficial first date, and Tony needed to have that evidence near him always—a physical reminder, at his work desk in that timeline, to show him that yes, things were going to be okay again. Things were going to be just fine.

He was going to be fine.

_We were going to be fine._

“This isn’t my handwriting,” Stephen said.

Tony smiled. “I did use your pen though.” His vision blurred and he blinked a few times to clear again.

Stephen’s hand squeezed his. “Tony…”

Tony moved his hand from Stephen’s, who let it go without a fight. “You’re the idiot who made the ring, by the way,” Tony said. He rested the photo between his thighs and brandished the gold ring, the green Time Stone fragment glittering in the light. “You told me it couldn’t do anything anymore. I didn’t believe you and it took you showering me with mountains of evidence from all across the cosmos and maybe the multiverses to reassure me, and prove to me, I was wrong. When I finally wore it, you were so…”

He closed his hand around it. A tremor rocked through Tony’s body.

Stephen’s hand clasped over his. “Stop.”

“You wouldn’t stop _gloating¸_ you dick _._ ” Tony’s watery laugh rang loud and strong throughout the room. “You kept telling me the great Tony Stark was finally proven wrong by magic of all things, and I had to keep telling you that you used scientific reasoning to get that evidence. You did concede that yes, I was partially right, but you still used magic to make me wrong too, and I just couldn’t fight you on that, which just made you _more_ egotistical—”

“Please.”

“And that’s coming from me, mind you, but, God I couldn’t stop you, because you looked so happy about everything, about what was happening, what this all meant, and I was—well, I was—”

“Stop it, Tony.”

“Sorry.” The nanotechnology eased away from Tony’s free hand. He wiped fingers over his wet eyes, wet cheeks, sniffed and coughed. “Got a little carried away there.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, yeah, that’s why you don’t have to worry about it. But just in case?” He snatched Stephen’s gloved hand in his bare one and pushed the ring into his palm, closing his fingers around it. “Here.”

“No—”

“Take care of it.”

“It’s yours.”

“Don’t need it.” Tony picked up the photo and waved it a little.

Stephen’s whole face softened. His lips parted, the protest there, and Tony felt that ache in his chest once more when Stephen sighed and pocketed the ring away in his pants.

“Well now!” Tony jumped up to his feet from the green chaise. “Since things are all fine and dandy between us, how about you open up one of those glowy portals and let me out of here, hm?” He looked over Stephen’s shoulder to where the Gauntlet rested on the desk and pointed over to it. “And if it’s not too much trouble, be a darling and get rid of that while you’re at it. Last thing we need a repeat of last time, huh?”

Tony smiled.

It waned away when he saw Stephen’s stoic, sad face.

“Hey. Don’t worry about any of this.” He slapped Stephen’s shoulder. “The Reality Stone screwed with me and we’re okay now. I don’t hate you. Or was it the Time Stone?” He shook his head. “Whatever. It’s over and done with.”

“It’s not.”

“Uhh, yes it is.” He chuckled and gestured between the two of them. “We fought, we talked, you got your answer, and I’m over the whole lying-about-keeping-the-Gauntlet thing. What else is there?”

“I did get rid of it. The Gauntlet. I broke the Gauntlet into pieces, disposing pieces of it in various dimensions. But I rebuilt it, because of you.” Stephen stepped away, walking back to the desk where said Gauntlet lay. “Every time you used it, in every possible future, you died. For me. Fourteen million times. I’m sorry I lied to you and the others, but I needed something to hold onto. To remind me of who, and what, I lost.” He picked it up. “I don’t need to know why you didn’t tell me what happened to you. I understand all too well the need to keep it to yourself, to cherish and protect what you had.” With a wave of his hand and the Sling Ring, a dimension opened and he threw the Gauntlet in. It disappeared with a spark of orange, and he looked over his shoulder, back at Tony, with a sad smile. “I learned that a little too late, though, that some things are best unsaid.”

Tony’s vision blurred over again. His blinks didn’t erase the moisture though.

Stephen turned around fully to face him. “I never thought you hated me. I knew you were angry, and why. We didn’t beat Thanos the first time around. The universe suffered for a while before we righted it. Everyone on our team still has issues over what happened. Young Peter had to go through what he did at such a young age—who, again, had nothing to do with this tonight.”

Tony felt a smile curl up, and he grinned when Stephen smiled too. “Good. He doesn’t deserve to be grounded.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Stephen walked forward, closing the gap between them with every step and every word. “I knew you were distraught after handling the Gauntlet, but I had no idea it was because of what happened by using it. _Of course_ you’d be angry at me. You fell for magic. I get it. You couldn’t throw these memories away, and then it took me snooping around to find these things to confront, again, what happened to you. You have every right to be angry with me. Maybe you’re not angry with me now, since we talked, but I understand if you still harbor some unresolved anger later.”

He stood nose-to-nose with Tony, and Tony felt his breath on his face, smelled his cologne, felt his body heat, and the ache triple-folded in his chest, his skin heating up.

“Just now that I am here for you, regardless of my feelings. Because I know, Tony. I care.”

Stephen rose a gloved hand to his cheek. The fabric grazed Tony’s skin.

Tony felt himself lean a little into it.

For a second, Stephen leaned a little more into him.

Then, Stephen closed his eyes. He took a full two steps away from him.

Tony re-caught his breath, composure returning to him as he shook his head. Orange sparks lit up the room. When he looked forward, he found Stephen halfway through the portal, gesturing a hand back to where they began, right to Central Park.

He followed right beside Stephen, his boots hitting the concrete. The portal closed behind them. Time seemed to have frozen still in the park, like a picture. Night still reigned, the sky still soaked in Manhattan lights, the tepid temperature still the same.

“Sorry I tricked you into that dimension, by the way,” Stephen said.

“It’s fine. Gloomy place you took me to, but it’s fine.”

Just as Tony turned around, Stephen blurted out, “I’ve taken you there before.” His cheeks turned slightly pink. “Not in every reality. But. Yeah.”

The sight caused déjà vu to Tony, but the ache in his chest was less than before. Much less. “Oh yeah?”

“I found it in a few realities. It was our little get away from the world, when it got to be too much for us. When we needed an escape from everything, we’d go there, just to gather ourselves again and reassure each other that we’d be okay.” Stephen smiled. “And it was the only place that housed our combined vinyl record collections.”

“So that’s why there was a record player in there.”

“You picked it out every time.”

“Naturally.”

“Gotta say, you do have great taste in music.” Stephen’s face soured. “But St. Anger? In four different colored vinyls? How many times did you _really_ need to buy that record?”

“Oh no, I am not about to start that argument again!” Tony laughed, walking backwards from Stephen, step by step. “Besides, you don’t have a leg to stand on, Mr. I-Own-Every-Creed-Album-In-Existence.”

“Any Creed album is better than St. Anger.”

Tony blew a raspberry at him before his faceplate melted back over. He pointed at Stephen. “Gauntlet!”

“Gone!”

“Good!” With a burst to his repulsors, Tony took off to the night sky. In his wake, he turned on Spotify and blasted over his internal PA system _Frantic_ , loud enough to Stephen to hear. Even over the roar of the jets, he heard Stephen’s frustrated groan.

***

It never got easier for Tony. They discussed record albums, engineering topics, medical topics, worked well together on the battle field, much to Peter’s delight. There was so much Stephen there, _his_ Stephen, just like he was sure there was much of _Stephen’s_ Tony there. But there was always something missing. Something off.

Maybe it was the way Stephen didn’t know the little things Tony expected him to, or how he acted or responded to things a little different. Maybe it was the way Tony himself acted or responded to things, and how Stephen always looked like he wanted to say something, do something more, but always stopped because for some reason, it wasn’t right, or it wasn’t enough.

But they shared their hurt, at least. That, Tony appreciated, more than he could ever express to Stephen. They shared space in their little get away dimension, listening to music and eating snacks and finding out more about the other that at the heart, they each knew, but they wanted, almost needed, to double check. To see if it lined up the way they thought.  The way they each remembered.

In that space, they housed their record albums, their movies, books, whatever precious things they didn’t want their world to have. They framed that photo Tony loved on that desk where the Gauntlet once lay, and beside it, in a red, velvet box lay the gold ring, with the intact fragment of Time Stone.

Beside that rested in a similar picture frame a new photo of the two of them, of this time, standing side by side in Central Park. This time, though, Stephen’s arm rested around Tony’s shoulders, and Tony’s hand made bunny fingers right behind Stephen’s head. But they leaned into each other, much more than they did in that other photo—closer, hip beside hip, side against side.

 _Whatever happens, happens_ , Stephen had said.

Tony picked up that new photo. He turned it around and read the words on the back. Scrawled in Stephen’s handwriting this time (who used Tony’s pen), read the translation to the original photo.

_You are always with me._

Below it, Stephen added one more line.

_And we will always remember._

Tony smiled. He placed the frame back in its spot and turned away from the desk, heading for the record player in their personal, safe haven of a dimension. On one of the two green chaises, Stephen sat with a book in hand, freshly delivered Chinese waiting for him on the coffee table. Tony ruffled his hair as he walked by, and Stephen responded with a swat to Tony’s hand.

It never got easier. It probably wouldn’t. But to Tony, they understood. They knew. After all, they had time.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _time was never on my side, so on I wait my whole lifetime_


End file.
